


a grand canyon in the corner of your bedroom

by fakelight



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-10-16 11:56:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10570818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fakelight/pseuds/fakelight
Summary: “I couldn’t wait,” he says, hesitantly, haltingly. “For it to be published. I couldn’t wait.”Tina blinks.





	

It hits her at the most inopportune of moments, when she’s suffering through a mountain of paperwork, frustration knitting her brows together, when Tina pushes her hair behind her ear—and stops, frozen.

Newt doesn’t occupy her thoughts constantly, she’s a realistic person, but out of the blue something will remind her forcibly of him, and all she can do is think of those strange few days. She allows herself to linger in the memory briefly, and then she breathes (in and out, one breath), and then she makes herself continue on with her life. It doesn't take much: a flash of red hair on the 2 train while trailing a suspect, an exceptionally fat squirrel flitting across the sidewalk. Jacob’s pastries, which Queenie brings home by the box.

Tina is almost embarrassed by it, the way she feels, that one man over a matter of days (and, she admits, some rather extraordinary circumstances) could have this kind of effect on her, even all these months later. This isn’t who she is. She’s the aloof Goldstein, the plain sister. Queenie is the one who unfurls in the presence of people, golden and shining. Tina is the reserved one, the one they say, “That’s your sister?” about, the tone of their voices unbelieving, the fact that the two of them could be related a shock.

She is not the one who is quick to smile, to trust, to give her heart over completely. She’s seen what happens when she cares too much.

But then she remembers the sudden joy that came over her, the laugh that bubbled up from nowhere at his words, the look on his face, and Tina thinks she understands her sister, understands herself, almost.

 

She’d skipped, that day.

 

She’s taken to visiting the Central Park Zoo on weekends, wandering from animal to animal, wondering if something magical has found its way among the creatures on display and if she might stumble upon him standing there.

But no, he’d asked, and she’d answered, and she has no expectations she will see him again, not until then. ( _If ever_ , she thinks to herself on the days where self-doubt overcomes Queenie’s declarations of his obvious feelings.)

She’d thought of writing, but how does one begin a correspondence after something like that? “Dear Mr. Scamander, remember how you said you would like to give me a copy of your book in person? Please hurry up and finish because I want to see the book, to hold the book, I think I feel very strongly about the book, the book surprised me in ways I could have never expected, I’ve never felt this way about a book before.”

 

Instead, she remembers. And breathes. In and out.

 

 

 

 

 

He’d stopped. On the gangplank, he’d paused and Tina doesn’t know why. She has her guesses, turned over them at night as she lies in her bed. He dropped something. His shoe was untied. He wanted to take back his offer. He didn’t want to leave.

(She clings to the last one.)

 

 

 

 

 

 _Come back_ , she thinks as hard as she can, the converse of her sister in so many ways, sending her thoughts across the ocean even as she knows there’s no such thing as the opposite of a Legilimens.

 

 

 

 

 

“I’ll catch you,” he’d said.

And he had, and they’d run hand in hand, and Tina wonders if he knows that he’s only the second person in the world to see her, truly see her. Not just in the potion, but as herself.

 

 

 

 

 

A chill wind is blowing in off the Hudson as Tina walks down West 24th in the early hours of a post-raid dawn. She supposes she could have Apparated home, but there are lingering traces of adrenaline in her veins, and ever since the city was destroyed and remade again, Tina has found herself with a new appreciation for New York, and so she walks. (It’s a fondness for the very bricks and people, both magic and non, that make it into what it is, something that Tina finds she can only truly experience when the streets are empty. As much as she appreciates the people, she appreciates them most when they aren’t in her way.)

It’s only after she almost trips over him that Tina is taken aback, quite literally, at the sight of the slightly disheveled wizard sitting on her front stoop, her shock forcing her back onto the sidewalk.

“Hello,” Newt says.

All Tina can do is gape at him.

"I hope I'm not intruding,” he apologizes, as he takes her in. Tina does the same. He looks well, a little paler, perhaps more tired-looking than before, but isn’t that all of them, these days?

To her dismay, “You didn’t write,” is the first thing she says to him, after all this time. Tina almost claps her hand over her mouth in embarrassment, but Newt smiles a little at her statement, almost fondly.

“No,” he says, standing. Tina holds her ground, even as she notices just how very close they are. “But,” Newt continues, bending down slightly to pick up something hidden in the shadows, “then again . . . ”

Newt hands her something gently, almost reverently, a leather folder filled to bursting, bits of parchment spilling out of the sides and held together with a piece of twine.

Tina looks at it—him—questioningly.

“I couldn’t wait,” he says, hesitantly, haltingly. “For it to be published. I couldn’t wait.”

Tina blinks.

“It’s my book,” Newt continues, faster now, his eyes focused on hers, his cheeks flushed. “It’s finished, and it’s the only copy in the world, and it’s yours now. But I said I would deliver it in person and I just couldn’t wait another moment, so I hope you enjoy it.” He says the last few words in an even greater rush, leaving behind a silence that seems to hang between them like a physical thing. A demiguise of a silence.

Tina feels an uncontrollable grin breaking over her face, and she laughs, the way she did the last time she saw him, sudden and clear and bright. She looks down at the manuscript in her hands.

“I’m sure I’ll love it,” she says, and hugs the folder tightly to her chest. Newt’s shoulders sag a little in relief, and Tina feels a rush of tenderness toward him. It’s strange, feeling like she has the upper hand, when she’s existed in a state of uncertainty over just what and who he was to her for so long, absent his presence. She’s surer now, surer than she’s felt about anything in quite some time.

They are still standing very close.

“I was just thinking about you,” Tina says impulsively. (It was a scarf that brought him to her mind this time, which she finds crossing her vision almost daily as the weather grows ever colder.)

She’s about to go on, but the look on Newt’s face stops her. He looks almost distraught, and Tina worries that she’s done something wrong, that maybe everything is wrong. But instead he looks at the ground, like he’s gathering strength, like the previous speech had taken everything out of him, which Tina realizes perhaps it has.

When his eyes meet hers again, his voice is quiet. “I see you everywhere. Every day, you cross my path, and—” Newt stops talking abruptly, takes a step back. He shrugs quickly, then turns to pick up the case (Tina’s practiced eye noting that one of the locks is unfastened) that sits a few steps above where they stand.

It’s not an escape. Tina knows, knows how he’s feeling, what he’s holding inside himself, because it’s in her too. She reaches forward, taking his hand, keeping him with her. He stops, still facing away.

“Newt,” she whispers, “I know, I . . . ”

She breathes in, leaving so many things unsaid, but it’s enough.

He turns back to her, case in hand. When his hand comes up to her hair, Tina closes her eyes, breathes out. It feels like a million memories, all at once, and Tina knows that nothing will ever be the same.

She kisses him, there in the rapidly brightening morning, and it’s warm and soft and feels like everything she never knew she wanted.

 

 

 

 

 

Later, much later, when they’re wrapped up tightly in each other, Newt leans his forehead against hers.

“I have a favor to ask of you,” he mutters.

Tina pulls back, extricating herself slightly from his embrace. She raises an eyebrow in curiosity.

“If you wouldn’t mind, I would very much like to borrow your copy of my book. My editor has been waiting quite a long time for it, you see.”

Tina smiles slyly, and shrugs. “I’ll think about it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Ry-Lo's [Grand Canyon](http://rylomusic.com/).


End file.
